What if?
by the cold-blooded one
Summary: This is a Sherlock fanfiction, a Oneshot, containing Johnlock and a little Johniarty (in this case Richard Brook is real, so it's not really Johniarty, but I couldn't think of a different name). I came up with it thinking "What if John Watson actually is James Moriarty"? Sorry if there are any mistakes in it, I am german and I don't have a proofreader, enjoy it anyway ;D


What if John Watson, who follows Sherlock around like a lost puppy, isn't who he seems to be?

What if this man, a soldier who lusts for action, blood and death, actually is the one who causes that all?

What if Richard Brook tells the truth and he is, in fact, only an actor?

Well let's just tell you how everything began.

John Hamish Watson. At the age of three he lost his father. The war was to blame, hundreds of men died everyday. It was a pointless death, really, because war didn't end. It wasn't something that suddenly started and ended abruptly. It was like an idea, slowly forming and never ever leaving your mind again. Of course John didn't understand that at the age of three. Everything he noticed was that his father never showed up again and that his mother never really smiled again.

At the age of six his school life began. John was clever, he knew he could do better if he wanted to, but that would only result in the teachers and the other students paying attention to him. No, it was better this way.

At the age of sixteen a young man named Richard Brook was the first one to really look at John Watson, the real one, the one who saved him from six bullies without batting an eyelash. To him, John really looked like a hero and it wasn't really surprising that after some time Richard Brook became quite attached to John Watson. It almost seemed like a normal thing to happen, but if somebody had asked Richard just what he liked about John Watson the man wouldn't have answered "His blue eyes.." or "The way he stands up for others...", no, he would have said this: "The little glimmer of insanity in his eyes, the one you can only see in dangerous situations". Some would say it was Richard who was mental, well, they weren't wrong, but the one who really needed help was John.

At the age of eighteen John signed up for the army. He never started dating Richard, who still was quite attached to him, his mother had died a year before and his sister, Harry, couldn't and wouldn't stop him from going. John desired to know what his father really died for. He wanted to experience what he experienced, he needed the answers to his many questions and he found this was the only way to get them.

At the age of twenty John decided on becoming a doctor. Seeing and causing far too many deaths this was the only way to escape the guiltiness.

Then at the age of twenty-five John Watson finally snapped. Not because of the one bullet that hit him, straight through his shoulder it went, no, it was because of his only friend out here lying right next to him, dying. There was nothing he could have done and that was it, the one thing causing John Hamish Watson to finally realize that he never had a chance to escape this. The world, this world had killed something and gave birth to something completely new. Something John didn't want, he struggled, he fought it, but in the end he understood that he can't fight against himself.

Cursing the whole world he was sent back home only to get as little money as the government had to give to him so that he would be able to survive. If Richard could have seen him in that moment he would have jumped in glee because of the insanity lingering from John.

Slowly and patiently he build up his own empire. And after another five years he was famous, at least to high-quality-criminals, and known as the only consulting criminal in the whole wide world: James Moriarty. The best thing was that nobody ever saw his face, they only had a name and a telephone number, they also never heard his voice because John preferred to text. Of course John knew that he couldn't lead his empire like that, he needed someone he could trust, someone who wouldn't betray him, someone who could serve as the image of "James Moriarty" and that's where it comes in handy to know that Richard Brook now lived in London and that he never actually forgot about John Watson, just like John Watson never actually forgot about the black-haired boy who quite obviously had a crush on him.

You can't imagine just how surprised but just as equally pleased Richard Brook was when he found himself being pressed against the wall in his living room by a very wet (apparently it had been raining since midday) John Watson. The blond man smirked as he felt a bulge growing against his groin.

"Still quite attached, now aren't you?" He teased, pressing a little harder and Richard Brook groaned slightly, a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"Let's make a deal. You play the evil criminal for me and I will pay you in whichever way you want?" Richard Brook shivered slightly at the feel of John's tongue sliding up his neck.

"Yes." He finally answers, his voice already slightly hoarse because of the arousal. John smirks again, the insanity lingering, causing Richard to shiver again, before he grabs the man's neck, pulling him down into a mind-blowing kiss.

Now let's just stop talking about the past, because right now the world has a bigger problem. Well the man we just talked about, John Watson, is bored. It wouldn't be as big as a problem if he would be just bored as hell, no right now he wasn't only bored, he was annoyed too. One of his high-quality-criminals messed up and now he wanted "James Moriarty" to clean up the mess. _As if._ In fact this "high-quality-criminal" only messed up because he let himself being shagged by The Woman. This part of the story was quite interesting to John, but the other part, the one with cleaning up the mess was unacceptable. As a result said "high-quality-criminal" was found a day later, speared by the little hand of Big Ben. At exactly six a.m. the corpse had its own big show as it fell down, scaring the hell out of the people who were insane enough to stand up and stroll around the city at this time of the day.

At least now John wasn't annoyed anymore. And there was something a little interesting or should I say somebody? Irene Adler, The Woman, she managed to impress him. It wasn't the way she distracted one of his high-quality-criminals (that was quite obvious), no, it was the way she tried to get his attention, "James Moriarty's" attention. But he decided that he won't give in. At least not now, because there was in fact somebody who was more than just a little interesting. Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft's little brother. He was so keen on solving murders, so addicted to showing of his own intelligence. It was almost very cute to look at, but from this distance John couldn't see everything, and oh, how he wanted to see everything, he himself, again lusting for danger, began to create a plan, a plan which should get him closer to Sherlock, close enough to take a peek at his soul and maybe his "non-existing" heart.

And then, one day, a limping army doctor, searching for a flatmate meets an "old friend" who introduces him to Sherlock. Of course everything goes according to his plan and it's almost disappointingly easy to fool Sherlock. John quickly gains his trust and notices that it's rather fun to follow the world's only consulting detective around. He wasn't the only one who noticed that though. Richard Brook, who now wasn't only "quite attached" but really obsessive and possessive too, also saw the hidden signs, the way the two of them interacted, the way John watched Sherlock's every move. Jealousy. It was powerful, but Richard Brook wasn't weak either. Of course he demanded to see John more often, to get him away from Sherlock, to not let him see what Richard loved about John. He could manage John killing the cabbie for Sherlock. It wasn't easy, but he managed anyway. He had to. Well at least their secret meetings had become more intense, more dangerous. And after some time John had planned The Great Game. Sherlock meeting "Jim from IT", Sherlock and the bombs. Then the meeting at the swimming pool: Two plans, one choice for John to make. Reveal himself or keep silent? Kill Sherlock or let him live? It wasn't an easy decision, until he saw the look on Sherlock's face as John stepped out of the darkness. That's the point at which John felt it, pain, the sweet pain of betrayal and then the lingering feeling of love. It was overwhelming. He just couldn't do it and so he decided against revealing himself and against killing Sherlock.

Richard soon realized that he wasn't satisfied. He just won't share HIS John, at least not with Sherlock Holmes and so he began scheming his own plan. John didn't see the change in attitude, he was too obsessed with new plans for new interesting crimes for Sherlock, making him "dance", enjoying how the consulting detective appreciated his company.

One day John decided to go out and buy a few things and that was the time Richard needed to talk to Sherlock. Opening the door with a grim look on his face he was quite surprised to see that Sherlock had brewed tea. Sitting down anyway he took one cup.

"Let's just get straight to the reason why I am here, Sherlock. Could you please restrain yourself from hitting on someone who's already mine?" Richard smiled, it looked a little disgusting.

"Someone who is already yours? If that would be the case, you wouldn't be here, Moriarty." Richard growled, his eyes glimmered with rage.

"John was, is and will be mine and there's nothing you could do about that." His nails dug into the couch.

"I'm afraid John would object though, Moriarty."

"It's Richard."

"What?" Now Sherlock was a little confused and Richard could only grin.

"My name is Richard Brook, I am not in any way "James Moriarty", I only serve as his image." He took a sip of tea, smirking.

"Then who-"

"Who created "James Moriarty"? Who thought of all those crimes you liked so much? Do you really want to know Sherly?" Sherlock could only nod.

"The only one you trust, your best friend John Wa-" He was just about to end his sentence when John stormed in, he was furious.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" He shouted and Richard stood up, taking this as his queue to leave.

"Originally, I just came to get my payment." Richard smirked and John took a quick glance at Sherlock, noticing his shocked expression he already knew what was going on. John narrowed his eyes and slammed Richard against the wall. Then he kissed him, biting down on his lip before pulling away again.

"We will talk about the rest later. Now go." Richard smirked, slightly touching his lips before leaving. Then John turned around to look at Sherlock.

"Seems like I have a whole lot to explain." John sighs, grabbing his gun and setting it down on the table, right next to the tea.

"Now Sherlock, it's your turn. I know you're hiding one under that pillow. Please lay it down next to mine." John waited but Sherlock refused to give up his only advantage. John sighed, then he stood up.

"Where are the handcuffs?"

"Not gonna tell you that. Why should I?" Sherlock retorts, seemingly pouting like a little child, but there was something different too. If Sherlock had seen himself right now he probably wouldn't have known this kind of expression, but John knew it all too well, despise, betrayal, distrust. He quickly turned around, distracting himself by searching for the handcuffs and quickly finding them. He puts them on, extra tight and then gives Sherlock the key before sitting down again.

"See? I won't do anything to you Sherlock and now please stop looking like that. I still have feelings you know?" John tries to convince him, but Sherlock still refuses to move so John pushes the gun that lays on the little table to Sherlock.

"Throw it away, if you want to." Still Sherlock doesn't move and it took a long time in silence until he finally whispered something.

"Why John?"

"You should be the one who understands my reasoning the best, Sherlock. It was just so boring and you know just how much I need the danger. The limping might have been fake but everything else, every single word I said, was the truth." John had to smile a little, thinking of all those good times when Sherlock didn't know his dirty little secret yet and John had been happy, utterly content and cheerful.

"I could have killed you or let somebody else do that for me, but I didn't. I shot the cabbie for you and it was my decision at the pool to not reveal everything and then just shoot you. I don't expect you to understand that as well, but I think that you'll try to understand." Again John smiles a little.

"How do you know that I will try to understand you, you who are my nemesis?" Sherlock narrows his eyes and tries to deduce everything about this John.

"Well, you could have shot me by know, it's quite obvious that you want to understand it first. That's what I like about you. And before I forget to say it again: You were right."

"Right about what?" John shifts slightly, trying to find a more comfortable sitting position.

"Right about the cabbie, it really was pure luck. He didn't really think about it, he just gave you one of the pills and lured you by "testing your intelligence"." Now John had to chuckle a bit.

"You know, sometimes you're such an idiot." Then he turns serious again.

"I had to shoot him, there was a high possibility of losing you." _And I don't know if I could have gotten over that. _John adds mentally, his smile turning into a sad one. Then he looks up again, right into the consulting detective's eyes.

"So, what are you going to do now? I'm sure you know that if I don't sort out my problem with Richard he will come back, looking for me." Again Sherlock narrows his eyes, if John hadn't known better he would have said in jealousy.

"What's your relationship with him?" John looks at him as if to ask "Do you really have to know that?" before sighing at Sherlock's unwavering gaze.

"He plays "Jim Moriarty" for me." Sherlock motioned for him to go on.

"Well, he gets paid for it." Now the consulting detective raises an eyebrow at the word "paid".

"He decided in what way I would pay him... and well, he decided on sex, I knew he would, because he has had a thing for me since I was seventeen? Sixteen? He always said he liked the "insane glimmer" in my eyes. It was easy, you know, convincing him and so on, I needed someone I could trust and I knew that it would be the best if that someone was emotionally attached to me." Sherlock nods now, understanding his point.

"They tend to not betray you as fast as others, but it seems like something went wrong. What is it?" At that question John blushed a bit, of course trying to hide it.

"... He got too possessive, too obsessed with me. I think he is, well, jealous." The consulting detective raises an eyebrow.

"Jealous? Because of whom?" The consulting criminal abruptly stands up, pointing accusingly at Sherlock with both hands because of the handcuffs.

"Come on Sherlock, you are not that stupid, even if it gets to feelings! Just who the heck could be the one who got Richard jealous, who the hell am I following around "like a lost puppy"?"

"You were the one who said that you didn't lie about anything else! I think that includes "not being gay" as well, doesn't it?!" Sherlock snaps back at him, feeling a little offended, but John didn't notice the change of voice, he was too happy about Sherlock trusting his word again.

"I didn't lie, I am not gay, I am bi."

"How is that not a lie John?!" Now Sherlock stands up too.

"You never asked if I was bi! And after hearing your "I consider myself being married to my work"-shit that was the only possible way of getting out of that situation Sherlock, you want to suggest a different solution now?" John was raising his voice, getting a little annoyed.

"Yes! You could have just told me truth!" Sherlock retorts, getting all worked up now.

"And then what? Leave?! Think about it Sherlock, just one minute try to think about why I still am here! I could be anywhere now with Richard, but no, I handcuffed myself so that you would talk to me!" John, a little exhausted now because of his outburst, slumps back into his seat.

"Just think about it..." He sighs, kneading his temples. Sherlock looks at him, already knowing the answer, but not saying it out loud, fearing he might be wrong. John looks up again.

"Sherlock, risking your life to prove just how intelligent you are is no problem for you, but when it comes to talking about feelings you are speechless?" John grits his teeth, knowing that there would be no other way to show Sherlock that he was right, he then stands up and walks over to the consulting detective.

"When it comes to feelings you sure are such a dimwit." He mumbles before grabbing Sherlock's collar, pulling him down into a kiss. He wants to brake it off short after, but Sherlock slips an arm around his waist, pulling John to him. Now responding to John's slightly aggressive kiss, the consulting detective refuses to let go of his prey, only ending the kiss because of his need for air.

"I could say the same to you, don't you think John?" Sherlock smirks at a flabbergasted consulting criminal.

"B-but, you said..." That was a first in John's life, not knowing what to retort. Sometimes he held the words back, but he never ever was at a loss for words.

"I know, I said that I considered myself being married to my work. My work is to solve crimes John and you are the one who creates them, so I suppose you are a part of my work too." Suddenly the smile on Sherlock's lips changes into a predatory one.

"So now that we sorted this out, I think we have to change the location." The consulting detective now licks his lips, still not letting go of John whose survival instinct now kicks in.

"Well I still have to talk to Richard." Sherlock just ignores that comment, dragging John to his bedroom. After pushing John through the door Sherlock follows, closing the door behind him. John turns around, gulping.

"W-what about the handcuffs?" Sherlock smirks again, walking over to John, cornering him like a tiger does it with its prey.

"You can leave them on, _Honey._" John's eyes widen a little, seems like he misjudged the consulting detective, not that John didn't like it rough, but normally he wouldn't be the bottom. _What did I get myself into?_


End file.
